The Dear (Part II)

Part 2 to the prose...betcha can't guess the muse....

Once in that land, he guestured with the simple flick of his fae like hand. His wild blond hair blows effortlessly in the mystical breeze. To despite his informal garments, he is a king: a king who rules this land with an iron fist, keeping his mismatched eyes on every inhabitant. To some in fact many, he is very cruel. Why Does he show interest toward me? Glaring into my soul. Is he shooting glances of hate on something else? He is hard to put a finger on. As soon as you've got him figured out, he changes, just like his labyrinth. I ponder all this as I try and anyalize this decieving flick of the wrist. I fear him and his power, his position. Why must I be the one he has set eyes on? When he speaks, his smooth british accent dripped in sarcasim and hate, his lips graze upon my ear while his hand rest firmly, yet gentlely upon my sholder, my arm, my waist?! Oh with a strange blend of curousity and fear I dare to press. What is to happen next?He takes my stiff hand in his ungloved? The king never let's anyone touch his royal flesh. Turning me to look into his oddly glowing eyes, he pulls me close to feel his fine silk shirt against  my face, which is a neverend mix of emotions. The heat of his body and the fel of his delicate flesh drives the blood to my cheeks. But this is a big step for him, though it's digused in simplicity and I hope it's enjoyable forward.

Author's Note

Please ignore my spelling and grammar thanks!